Chapter 4
“–and so, I would be extraordinarily grateful if you would delay your report on this matter until Friedrich had a chance for a rematch.”
Arne stood in the Castellan’s office, bowing to Lord Hartmut who looked at him pensively.
“A rematch, hmm?” the old man asked gently, stroking his carefully trimmed beard. “You’re a natural at this, aren’t you?”
That made Arne hesitate. “What do you mean, Lord Hartmut?”
“Nothing much. Only that–”
His aura sense screamed a warning. But before he could react, Arne found himself pinned to the wall, held up only by the graying warrior’s hand around his throat.
“–you are an inexperienced brat.” The Castellan’s voice was cold and harsh, a sharp contrast to his earlier behavior. His aura was restrained to a degree where even Arne could barely make it out, but what little he felt made his blood run cold.
“You judged me to be a benevolent grandfather from my words and my aura. Accordingly, you decided that you could afford to try my patience by testing my allegiances with an innocuous question.”
Arne desperately tried to squeeze out a reply, but the fist around his throat did not give way.